Raesh's Story
by Faerax
Summary: From the World of Warcraft. The story of a Night Elf assigned to retrieve lost supplies from the Swamp of Sorrows. Written at the end of last year to celebrate getting exhalted with Stormwind.


The World of Warcraft isn't mine (Bow down to Blizzard Entertainment for that one), however my character, night elf #2345243456232466, aka Raesh, is, as are her mounts, her cat, and this story (Bliz may own the bits, I own the animating forces). No profit is being made from this story. I did complete the lost supplies quest a total of 1300 times between levels 39 and 41 over the course of a year. I wrote this to celebrate my freedom from the best and the worst quest ever. Now I need to level up to see what's in the outlands.

Raesh's Story

-WoW-

I thought back to my last vision of Lyra, quiet, still and crated for transport from Menethil to Darkshore, then on to Astranaar. The big frostsaber had been my companion for the better part of the last year, since the Alliance forces decided that I was actually deserving of a mount. Even at that, I wasn't so sure it was the Alliance forces, so much as Quartermaster Lungertz tiring of my constant requests for new boots. When he had turned over Lyra's reins, he told me that buying the mount would be cheaper than keeping me in boots. When I questioned why he had brought over a frostsaber rather than a horse, he told me brisquely that as a night elf, I was not allowed to ride one of the human's horses. An elf couldn't be trusted with one. By that time I had been at Nethergarde long enough to note that although the other Alliance races were represented, I was the only night elf assigned to the keep. Humans and Dwarfs made up most of the keeps inhabitants, with the occasional gnome. However there were no other night elves stationed there, and the only ones I saw in my time there were passing through on various errands. The other denizens of the keep made it known that they would prefer I find another assignment in the within Alliance forces. I had not known our kind was held in such contempt by the other races.

I had joined the Alliance forces in a maelstrom of rage after seeing the horde attack and nearly destroy Astranaar, my home. It may have been the worst mistake of my long elven life. My sergeants despaired of me, and no one is quite sure how I made it through basic training. As a result, I was assigned to very minor duties, generally in unpleasant places. I had been shuffling about from one minor assignment to another when I pulled Nethergarde Keep. Once at Nethergarde, they decided to assign me to Lungertz. Lungertz decided to assign me to collect the supplies that had been lost in the trips from Darkshire in the Swamp of Sorrows.

If you've never been to the Swamp, I urge you to thank your lucky stars. The swamp is an awful place. The hot, humid air, the fetid stench of the stagnant water, the incessant droning of the biting insects all conspire to make the Swamp of Sorrows one of the most insufferable places in Azeroth. So of course, the Horde had to build a base there, and interfere with the Alliance supply lines to Nethergarde.

For weeks I ran through the mud and sludge of the swamp, retrieving the lost crates, and returning them to the quartermaster. After the 20th request for new boots (the previous ones having been lost in the mud, or destroyed by the swamp's ambient conditions), he somehow arranged for me to get a mount, and I received my Lyra with joy. She is the most beautiful frostsaber born, in my eyes.

For months the two of us, accompanied by Rakshasha, an elder nightsaber, went into and out of the swamps. Several times a day we'd venture into the swamps, collect a crate, and return back to Neathergarde. We could only carry one crate at a time because of the size. At night, we slept in a woodshed by the back of the forge. Frequently I was called a "crazy cat lady". The clerics and miners kept their distance from me, fearful, I think of the claws and teeth of the sabers. Rakshasha, well Rakshasha they were correct in fearing. She is, however very obedient, and would not attack without first receiving the signal to do so from me. Whenever I went riding out on Lyra, I was given a wide berth by the keeps other denizens. I always found this amusing, as Lyra would never harm anyone. Though she looks fierce, she is gentle, and ran from danger.

And danger we found, in plenty. The swamp jaguars, the lost ones, the Stonard scouts and the spiders seemed intent on making our lives a living misery. I learned how to stitch living flesh at Nethergarde. I had to, the jaguar's claws would plow furrows through our legs as we ran from them. The knives and arrows of the lost ones made their mark on our flesh as well.

You might ask why we ran, rather than turn and fight. The answer was simple. By the time you finished off one set of enemies, another had appeared to bedevil you. Somewhere there is a portal in that land that lets the vile and most miserable souls become flesh incarnate in that hated land. Our tasks were difficult, but we persevered, until now.

It was the swamp itself that was our undoing. We learned the territories of the creatures easily enough that most could be dodged easily, and evaded without incident. We'd come back covered in mud, and the dry air of the Blasted Lands tried to make adobe statues of us. Nights were frequently spent bathing the cats (not something they terribly enjoyed) and then pulling the burrs out of their pelts. It was during one of these sessions that I noticed that something had torn into Lyra's left hind, a swamp jaguar to judge from the wound pattern. The wound hadn't been visible under the mud and clay. Lyra hadn't been limping on the way back into the keep so I figured she wasn't hurt. Although I treated her and stitched her back up, the wound became infected.

By the next morning, Lyra was having difficulty walking. By nightfall, she was feverish and I feared for her life. A healer looked in on her now and again, and did the best she could, but my Lyra still suffered. Eventually Lungertz decided to take Lyra, and thus myself and Rakshasha, to Darkshire to see if a healer there could help. Being more populated, the odds of finding a healer capable of healing the injury were higher, certainly more so than in the keep with the miners and clerics. The journey began at moonrise. It was odd riding through the swamps on a cart rather than Lyra. She slept through the trip. Mostly I remember the way her fur glowed in the moonlight and the sound of the pounding hooves of the horse.

At Darkshire they could do little but make Lyra more comfortable. She was placed in the stable, and I went outside of the stall, to stay out of the healer's way, yet close enough so that Lyra could know I hadn't left her. In the barn I watched the horses, amazed at the animals. Before I had come to the human lands, I had never seen the like. Even at Nethergarde, I didn't come near them since the smell of the cats on my clothes made them nervous. Here though, there were enough elven travelers that the horses were seasoned to the smells.

The horses reminded me of the deer in the world tree. They had long legs, yet moved delicately on them. They had the same grace as the deer, but were built to carry loads far heavier. I always wondered what it would be like to ride one, to feel it move. I wondered if it would be the same undulating, springing motion as Lyra in an all out run. The thumping of the hooves was so different from Lyra's nearly silent padding. They were a mystery to one who was raised among the frostsabers. I wondered if the humans recognized the beauty or saw them merely as a beast of burden.

We spent a week in Darkshire. Lyra's wound had been treated for the infection, and was slowly responding, but not well. She still had difficulty walking. A frostsaber handler came to Darkshire from Stormwind. He looked at the wound and pronounced it healing. However, Lyra would likely never run, nor be able to bear the weight of a rider again. The muscles in her leg had begun to atrophy, and the infection had caused damage to some of the tendons. It was only by Elune's grace that she was able to walk.

Since Lyra was technically owned by the Alliance forces, I bought her outright from Lungertz, so that I could send her to my modest home in Astranaar. I knew that I could ask one of my neighbors to watch her, and ensure that the saber would live out her days in peace and tranquility.

A week later, I was at the docks in Menethil, watching as Lyra was loaded into a ship bound for Auberdine. Lyra had been drugged for the journey, to prevent her from hurting herself, and she only groaned quietly when lifted up and into the cargo hold. When the ship had left, sailing beyond the horizon, I turned back to the inn. I needed to take the cart back that had carried Lyra to Menethil. Lungertz had come with me on the journey, but had left me at the dock to say my goodbyes.

I joined him at the inn, and after dinner he and I went to the stables. Once again I was amazed by the beauty of the animals the humans had tamed for their mounts. Our cart was kept there, along with the two, old chestnut mares that had pulled it. Lungertz asked me which of the available animals I though we should bring back to Nethergarde. Trust a quartermaster to turn everything into a supply run. I looked around and pointed out a few that I thought were pretty. He pointed out which ones had correct confirmation, which were spavined, and what we needed to look for in a good mount. Then he quizzed me again, and found my answers more acceptable. The horse I lingered longest over was a big black stallion with a white blaze and white socks. The horse was much larger than its brethren. It was beautiful, but more of a draft animal than a riding animal to a human. It had gentle eyes, despite being a stallion. They reminded me of Lyra's.

After a night at the inn, we went to the stables to collect our new herd and return to Nethergarde. Most of my picks were there, as was the big black, much to my surprise. I was even more surprised to see that the he was saddled in the human fashion. Lungertz took the horse by the bridle and walked over to me. Then the taciturn quartermaster ordered the horse to stand. He explained that I should approach the horse from the left, put a foot in the stirrup and swing my leg up over the animal's back. I looked at him dumbfounded.

"It's still cheaper to provide you with a mount than to keep buying you new shoes. It'll be easier to treat a horse than a saber anyway. He's yours. Keep him in one piece. You've earned it."

As I followed Lungertz's instruction on how to mount, I was amazed. This was the man that had told me I couldn't be trusted with a horse mount, and here he was giving me one. I laughed out loud. Maybe Nethergarde wasn't so bad after all. He gave me a quick course in how to guide the animal, and waited a few minutes until I was used to the prancing motions of the horse before we headed out of the town.

We managed to get all the way over the bridge into the Wetlands before I fell off.


End file.
